The Lucky Ones(51)

“True,” she said, nodding sheepishly. “It was so odd, though. It looked like normal glass, but when it fell it was goo.”

“The first time Dad sculpted glass with Deacon, he said it felt like messing with the brain again because it’s not quite solid, not quite liquid and really dangerous.”

“I can see that,” she said, recalling how unnatural it felt to be able to pull and mold thick heavy glass like putty. “I promise to remain a spectator in the future.”

“Please. Deacon’s tattoos are half art, half covering up burn scars on his arms.”

“Thora saved me,” Allison said. “I owe her.”

“She’s a good kid,” Roland said. “So...are you freaked out?”

“About almost burning my hands off?”

“About last night.” He looked adorably young and uncomfortable sitting there on the bed, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Last night was lovely,” she said, and stretched out her legs and rested her feet on Roland’s thighs. “You freaked out by it?”

“I had a moment this morning when I woke up in bed with you. And you were there all naked and beautiful, and I thought, Yup, gotta go to confession today.”

She laughed. “Did you?”

“I’m keeping a list. When I have an even dozen, I’ll hit up Father Larry for absolution.”

“How many sins do you have on your list?”

“After last night, two more,” he said.

“Need a hand reaching a baker’s dozen?” she asked.

Roland raised his eyebrow at her.

“You’re bad,” he said, pointing his finger at her. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“Ever heard of a nooner? McQueen used to squeeze me in between his breakfast and lunch meetings. You can squeeze me in before dinner, can’t you?”

“I’d rather take my time.”

“You say such sweet things,” she said. “But I know how wicked you are.”

Roland’s eyes widened. “What did you hear?” he asked. “Do I want to know?”

“Deacon said you, him and Thora used to smoke pot up in the attic.”

Roland’s head fell back in annoyance.

“That was years ago. Years,” he said. “We haven’t done that since I was a teenager.”

“You sure about that?” she asked. “You’re being awfully defensive.”

“Not once in eleven years,” he said.

Allison tapped her foot on his leg.

“Okay, maybe once,” he said. “Right after I came home from the monastery. Deacon made me do it.”

“That better be on your sin list for Father Larry.”

“It is, promise.”

“What else is on your sin list?”

“That’s between me and Jesus.”

Allison took her feet off his lap and stood up in front of him. He put his hands on her waist and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Here,” she said. “One more for your list.”

She kissed him, a deep kiss but a quick one. When Roland returned the kiss, Allison pushed him onto his back.

It didn’t take much more than that to convince Roland to squeeze her in before dinner. She crawled on top of him, but Roland rolled her onto her back. He stripped her clothes from her quickly but not quick enough for her. She unzipped his jeans and guided him into her before he even had time to take his flannel shirt off. He slowly moved into her and she groaned with pleasure. Roland buried his face between her breasts and laughed softly.

“What?” she said.

He lifted his head and put a finger over his lips.

“Dad’s directly above us,” he whispered.

“Oops,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Thank you,” he mouthed, and started moving inside her again. She pressed her face to his chest, relishing the warmth of his body and the feel of his flannel shirt on her cheek, soft and well-worn with age and too many washings. But she wanted to feel his skin against her, so she quickly undid one button at a time while he braced himself over her, then pushed it down and off his arms.

He was good at being quiet while making love, and she wondered if that was simple discipline or embarrassment. McQueen had made her shameless, so it wasn’t easy for her to stifle her moans and gasps, especially when Roland touched her throat the way she loved. A groan escaped her lips and Roland pressed his hand over her mouth. She giggled behind his palm and felt his laughter rumbling through his body.

“Shh...” he breathed into her ear, and she couldn’t stop herself from giggling again. Roland pushed two fingers into her mouth and in an instant the room disappeared, transformed into another darker room. The blue bed was gone and she lay on a bare cot. The air was no longer light and cool and salt-scented from the open window, but hot and close and musty. And it wasn’t Roland’s fingers inside her mouth but something hard and cruel, shoved between her teeth.

Allison turned her head to gulp air and Roland rose up over her.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes wide and worried.

“I’m fine,” she said, panting.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I think...I think I gagged on your fingers.”